Bela Tarr

Another year comes to an end and perhaps you’re as tired of “end of year” lists as
I am. Every December (and increasingly every November), cinephiles and film
critics rally to create a list of their favourite films. I have always struggled to
understand the idea behind making a list of a Top 10, or even of a Top 50 which I
have seen this year, too. Strong or weak lists – it doesn’t matter what you put
together. As long as it is a list, people share it, which, to many writers, is the most
important aspect in creating their lists. The very influential French magazine Les
Cahiers du Cinéma has released the weakest list I have seen this decade. Lists
are always based on individual preferences, but there are some critics who don’t
even try to hide their utter ignorance of world cinema. How can a Top 10 list with
the best films of the decade be exclusively European-American with the sole
exception of Apichatpong Weerasethakul? A list like this suggests that Asia, Latin
America, the Maghreb have produced nothing worthwhile in the last ten years
and this, I think we can all agree, is a lie. Cahiers‘ list is, as is the Sight & Sound
list, influential and those films on the list will get even more exposure than they
already have. This also means that it is those very lists which actively help to
exclude underrepresented films and filmmakers. And this is, as I believe I write
every year, also the reason why you will never get me to make a list. Every film I
write about here on this blog is a recommendation and a nod to its quality. Of
course, there are exceptions, like Lav Diaz’s Season of the Devil which I found
particularly terrible. But generally, if a film ends up on this blog, it is a pointer to
its quality.

A couple of weeks ago, I reviewed András Bálint Kovács’ book The Cinema of Béla
Tarr (2013), which turned out to be a disappointment. Jacques Rancière’s book
(original title: Béla Tarr, Le temps d’après) was published in 2011. The English
translation hit the book market last year.

If I wanted to review the book in only one sentence, I would say that it’s much
better than Kovács’ book. By miles. I read the French and the English version, the
latter has been done well to come as close to the original as possible. The most
outstanding fact of the book is that it conveys the atmosphere of Tarr’s movies to
a greater extent. The book is at times rather poetic, which fits well to Tarr’s
filmmaking. It’s a book that stays true to the subject it is studying. I missed this in
Kovács’ book, in which Tarr’s films were quantified and dissected into a great
many pieces. The over-analytical approach irritated me, and because of its
approach the book wasn’t the greatest advertisement for Tarr’s cinema.
Rancière’s approach is different. I had the feeling that he doesn’t quantify the
films. Rather, he focused on the quality of the films. His style of writing is very
different from that of Kovács’. If you expect an academic study of Tarr’s films,
you may not be happy with The Time After. Analysis takes over towards the end of
the book, but until then it all feels like an experience. Tarr’s films, too, are
experiences, as is the case with the vast majority of slow films. The main factor
that distinguishes them from contemporary narrative (blockbuster) cinema is
that it’s an experience, instead of an action-packed entertainment parcel.

I do have to admit that it was sometimes difficult to follow Rancière. At times it

felt as if he drifted off, and didn’t care anymore whether the reader could follow
him. It felt as if he was in his own world, and yes, sometimes it read as if he
wasn’t writing, but speaking. This tone made the reading an entirely different
affair. I had a much better image of Tarr’s films. I could feel the images, and this
is so essential about his films.

With his poetic writing, I assume, Rancière manages to wake the interest of the
reader who is not familiar with Tarr’s films. The book is an experiential piece
without its ever giving away too much of the films themselves. When you’re done
with Kovács’ book, you have pretty much seen all of Tarr’s films. His study is so
detailed that you don’t have to see the films anymore. On the other hand, the
tedious analysis might have put you off the films anyway. Rancière, in contrast,
points to aspects of Tarr’s films, without making a detailed analysis out of it –
just as Tarr would have liked it. He said several times that his films shouldn’t be
analysed or interpreted. I always found this to be a somewhat arrogant statement
of an auteur, but after I read Kovács’ book I could see the truth in Tarr’s point.

This is for me the biggest success of Rancière’s book: he does not put people off
Tarr’s films. He makes them sound interesting. His writing remains true to the
films and to Tarr’s filmmaking. There’s no attempt at analysing every scene of
every film. The only 92 pages strong book covers Tarr’s entire oeuvre superbly. At
times, it’s confusing, I have to admit, because Rancière jumps from one film to
another. Overall, however, it feels as if he said everything that can realistically be
said about Tarr’s films without making it a dry, distant and utterly boring affair.
There may be more books on Tarr in the future, who knows. But The Time After is
definitely the one to top for me.